


like the moon on your skin

by amosanguis



Series: a/b/o AUs [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alpha Arthur Morgan, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, BAMF Tilly, Character Study, F/M, Fight Sex, Fluff and Smut, Omega Tilly Jackson, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Public Sex, Tilly-centric, Title from a Country Song, Violent Sex, and a dash of angst for flavor, can't believe i almost forgot a v important tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:12:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amosanguis/pseuds/amosanguis
Summary: Tilly’s the top omega of Dutch’s gang for a reason.





	like the moon on your skin

**Author's Note:**

> \--Title from "I Don't Want This Night To End" by Luke Bryan  
> \--I don't normally have het ships, but Tilly and Arthur talked a lot in my version of the game so now I love her forever. This was just supposed to be about Tilly being a BAMF, and then it turned into this.  
> \--Major spoilers for the end of the game, so tread lightly.  
> \--This has only been given a cursory edit, please forgive any mistakes.

-z-

 

Tilly’s the top omega of Dutch’s gang for a reason.

 

-

 

People look at John Marston and think he’s at the top of the omega hierarchy, but, when Tilly walks by, he bows his head and steps out of her way. Sean MacGuire, though an alpha, brings her flowers and sings her bawdy songs to make her smile, just to earn her blessing in courting and, eventually, mating Karen.

 

-

 

Tilly isn’t the strongest nor the fastest of the omegas – but she is the smartest, the bravest. Not that that’s not the sum of her.

When Sadie comes into the gang, bruised and beaten and broken, Tilly gathers the other omegas and they all rally around her – and, slowly, they begin putting her pieces back together.

Tilly builds Sadie up into someone new, someone stronger, and keeps going until Sadie is not only _better_ , but the best of them all. She fans the flames of Sadie’s anger, teaches her how to channel it into something productive like shooting and riding.

So it goes until Sadie can outshoot and outride her – and then Tilly pushes her harder. She does it all quietly. Tilly’s survived in this world by passing unnoticed and it’s an instinct she never ignores. Sadie will have nothing to do with it, of course, and it’s not long before she’s riding with the alphas.

If she wanted, Sadie could Challenge Tilly and win – but she does just like every other omega in the camp does when Tilly walks by: she bows her head and steps to the side.

 

-

 

Dutch is the undisputed top of the alpha hierarchy, but only because Arthur had no interest in deposing him. Dutch had Arthur’s absolute loyalty, and that’s what holds him at the top.

But that loyalty only goes so far, Dutch knows, because, come fall and the rutting, when all reason goes from the mind of alphas and omegas both, Dutch takes Molly, a favored beta, and disappears into town.

 

As it always goes, the young bucks are the ones to start it off.

Lenny’s headaches turn into mood-swings turn into him dropping fang and squaring up against Micah. Micah roars in Challenge and charges and he’s almost on Lenny when Arthur gallops hard into camp, having caught the rut-scents on the wind, and he descends on Micah with an overwhelming fury Micah can’t defend himself against.

Javier, who’s scent had just changed to match Lenny’s and Micah’s, abruptly changes once again into something far more subdued in the wake of Arthur’s appearance.

Micah tries to fight back, desperately biting and clawing at any opening he can – but Arthur’s muscles have hardened, his skin thickened – and Micah barely draws a drop of blood. Arthur, on the other hand, has Micah flat on his back as Arthur’s fists fly.

Arthur breaks bones and destroys cartilage and he doesn’t stop until the betas – Miss Grimshaw, Pearson, Abigail, Mary Beth – pull Micah from beneath him. Arthur starts as if he’s about to follow them, but that’s when Tilly steps in, moving on some unspoken cue. (If someone had dared, this would have been the moment to Challenge her – fighting her for the right to step up to the alpha winner.)

Tilly is the eye of Arthur’s hurricane; she is the blue sky against the backdrop of a rumbling storm dropping a twister; she is the rock standing tall in the midst of a rapidly raging river.

She gives Arthur pause.

She makes Arthur hesitate.

Then the moment is over in a rush and they themselves clash together in violence.

In the absence of anyone else worthy, they fight each other – digging into each other with fang and claw, kicking up dirt to the soundtrack of Arthur’s deep-chested roars and Tilly’s throaty, high-pitched answers.

Arthur throws her down and then she easily flips them – her blood’s up and her body is flooded with the hormones that give her the strength to match Arthur blow-for-blow. She’s the only one who can, the only one who dares to – and _that_ , that right _there_ , is what’s earned her her position. No one else is willing nor able to stand up to this alpha – so she does, because she can.

Tilly rips away Arthur’s pants as he tears at her dress until Tilly stops him with a hand wrapped around his throat – slamming him once more to the ground even as she reaches between them, steadying Arthur’s cock before she slides down onto him.

A rumbling growl-purr breaks from her chest as she closes her eyes and tilts her head back – she clenches around Arthur, locks her thighs around him and holds him in place until she’s ready for him to move.

 

 The mating is violent and goes all night, their scents mingling and filling the whole of the camp. Those who were still healthy pair up before slinking into the periphery – John and Abigail, Karen and Sean, Lenny and Javier and Mary Beth – laying themselves down just at the edge of the firelight to add their own sounds to the cacophony.

 

With dawn comes a silence, a lull and easement. The fires have burned down to embers, allowing the chill of the morning to settle in.

Miss Grimshaw gathers the betas and begins the work of righting the camp and tending to the wounded as Mr. Pearson begins preparing the day’s stew.

Micah stirs a few times, but he never fully rouses, and Miss Grimshaw doesn’t have much hope that he ever will again. Micah had been a fool to think he could take on Arthur; if he’d been smart – he’d’ve done what Charles did and made himself scarce. Lenny and Javier, having already been through multiple ruts around Arthur, would’ve been somewhat safe from Arthur’s more feral side – even at their most primal, alphas still knew and recognized old friends. New friends? Not so much.

Tilly lets Arthur maneuver them to his cot, shedding their tattered clothing as they go. Then he lays Tilly down and lowers his head between her legs, licking gently and lapping her clean. Their mornings are always like this – afterwards – slow and sweet, opposite of the night of frantic and feral violence that comes with the rutting.

Then, when they’re both too raw and spent to continue, Arthur curls around her, the sound of her soft, contended purring reverberating between them – lulling them both to sleep.

 

Micah lives, but he can no longer shoot a gun. He’s given two options: help out the betas and omegas, or get left behind.

He gets left behind, snarling in wagons’ dust as Arthur laughs off his threats.

 

-

 

As is customary, the night of the next full moon brings gifts.

Tilly gives Arthur a gun – a revolver with beautifully blackened metal and golden etching – before Arthur presents her with a new dress. It’s yellow and blue and made of fine but sensible material – something to wear into town whenever she and the other omegas get too camp-weary.

Arthur watches as Tilly changes immediately, then, with a light-hearted snarl, he pushes her down onto his cot and peppers her face with sloppy and wet kisses until the both of them are giggling. Then Arthur takes the material of the dress in both hands and, settling on his knees, Tilly has just enough time to gasp before Arthur’s face is gone and his tongue is working her open.

 

-

 

Tilly doesn’t tie her spot at the top to Arthur – he’s merely a bonus, one she’s all too willing to indulge in whenever she can. Whenever he’s not off to exert Dutch’s will on the world or hunt something down for Pearson’s stew or find a book to replace the one Jack’d lost.

And when he does come back, dirty and exhausted and burdened, he always looks for her first – eyes searching amongst all the others until he sees her, then he smiles and nods and presses a quick kiss to her cheek, before he’s off to talk to Dutch or Hosea or drop off a carcass to Pearson.

 

With the Foremen, the omega hierarchy had been a dangerous affair and nearly always unstable, the top positions were the safest and omegas were willing to kill to get there. Something with which Tilly was all too familiar. After she’d run and been picked up by Dutch, Miss Grimshaw had taken one look into her eyes and said,

“You’re safe here. Whatever you had to do before, it’s not like that here.”

Dutch had just looked between them, confused, before he was waved away by Miss Grimshaw – just as Tilly had collapsed into her arms, overwhelmed with relief and exhaustion from her time on the road.

Miss Grimshaw had then taken her down to a river and washed her gently, singing softly about the Stillwater jail and a California miner. And Tilly had thought then, as Miss Grimshaw wraps her carefully in a blanket, that she could have a life with these folks. She had that thought again when, as Miss Grimshaw was showing her to a tent, a large alpha on a large bay rode briskly into camp, swinging down easily as he unloaded a dead pronghorn to dump at the cook’s wagon.

“Don’t get your hopes up, my dear,” Miss Grimshaw snaps, effectively recapturing Tilly’s attention – making Tilly whip her head around, her cheeks burning at being caught staring. Miss Grimshaw’s voice softens as she explains, “That’s Arthur and he doesn’t stick around for the rutting.”

“Why?”

Miss Grimshaw’s lips pursed as she averts her eyes. “No omega can take him and the last one to try was nearly killed,” she explains.

A month and then two passes quickly after that and Tilly and Arthur barely exchange a _howdy_. Tilly settles in with the others easy enough and she watches the build up to the rutting in fascination. Lenny begins to linger closer as she does laundry and Javier trails her at a respectable distance if she wanders too far outside of camp. Arthur himself is mostly scarce – keeping himself busy with hunting and robbing, she’d overhear him saying to Hosea.

Lenny and Sean are the first to break. Sean has his nose pointed at Karen and Lenny had simply made the mistake of walking between them, not paying attention – then Sean had bellowed and Lenny had answered. Then the two of them are crashing together, kicking up dust, their scents sharpening – it was the starting shot and Tilly feels her body beginning to answer.

Javier prowls closer – but his scent is acrid to Tilly’s nose and she turns away from him. He rumbles at her, angry at the dismissal, so she rears back and _screams_ at him – throwing the full of her weight into it – and it echoes around all the camp, reverberating through the trees and climbing up into the sky. It makes Javier whimper and stumble back, his reaction surprising everyone – especially himself.

Then.

Then, from the forest deep, there’s an answering roar, carried in on the wind – stilling all in camp.

 _Arthur_.

Slowly, Sean and Lenny separate as Javier slinks back into the shadows. Behind her, Miss Grimshaw curses.

Tilly is deepening into her wildness, her heat fogging her mind as her instincts sharpen. All she could think was that none of the alphas in the camp would do for her – they stank of either youth or weakness or both. The one scent that thrilled her was faint, gone for days now, and so, she pointed her head at the stars and the rising rutting moon, and she howled. She howls for the alpha with the thrilling scent – she howls and she howls and she howls until that large alpha and that large bay explode from the tree line.

Arthur jumps from his horse and turns to face Tilly, rut-fury in his eyes.

He’s glorious and Tilly licks her lips in anticipation – he wants to fight, wants to gauge her worth and measure it against his own. He wants no weakness the same as she.

Distantly, as if from underwater, she hears someone shouting their names – but she pays no heed. Arthur is her one focus and she doesn’t wait for him to make the first move.

She charges and it takes him by surprise – that single second of hesitation enough for Tilly to slide to her knees and grab Arthur by the ankle before _yanking_.

Arthur curses and flounders and Tilly doesn’t give him a chance to recover before she’s back to her feet and jumping onto his back and sinking her teeth into the meat of his shoulder until she can taste blood mingling with the taste of dirt from his shirt – a thin layer of protection she snarls and rips at. Tilly wants his _skin_ , she wants nothing between them.

There’s a strange flying sensation Tilly just barely registers before Arthur’s full weight crashes on top of her, making her grip loosen from Arthur’s chest. Arthur rights himself and before Tilly can get the air back into her lungs, Arthur’s dropped fang and he’s roaring in her face as he roughly grabs her arms and pins them over her head.

Tilly just grins as she squirms – managing to free her legs to wrap around Arthur’s waist, pulling him closer until he’s flush against her. His grip loosens just a fraction at the contact as he ducks his head to brush his teeth against her neck – a threat and demand for her submission.

Tilly instead takes advantage of his distraction – he’s underestimated her strength like this – and breaks her wrists from his hold to shove at his chest and, using her legs as hooks around his thighs, flips them over. She doesn’t wait for the flip to complete before she’s grabbing him by the neck with one hand, her tiny claws threatening to break skin. With her other hand, she makes quick work of the buttons of Arthur’s jeans before she takes him in hand.

Like this, she has him beaten.

Their eyes lock and there’s a brief moment of clarity where Tilly fears that once Arthur breaks free, he may just kill her. But then the fire in Arthur’s eyes is settling and there’s a rumble building in his chest that she more feels than hears – her signal to continue.

Slowly, she loosens her grip on his throat, but doesn’t move it away completely; then she lowers herself onto him.

And once she’s fully seated – her forehead resting against his as they pant and growl almost in sync – there’s another pause and Tilly has just enough time to lean back and appreciate the rutting moon, still low and fat and yellow in the sky, as Arthur wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her tight against his chest.

Then Arthur’s hand grips the back of her neck and once more they’re in the air, landing hard into the dirt. Tilly releases his neck and instead digs her fingers into his hair – but she doesn’t try to push him away, instead, she pulls him closer, spreads her legs wider and growls in challenge.

It’s a brutal pace and they’re still more fighting than fucking as Tilly tears at Arthur’s clothes, wanting to taste his skin and the blood burning hot through him.

Arthur roars each time she marks him, his pace faltering just the slightest, until his knot is swelling between them – Tilly accepts it eagerly. Arthur buries his face in her neck, nuzzling and breathing her in as his thrusts stutter. They’re close, the both of them, the pressure building and building – then Tilly is rolling them over and sitting up, pulling Arthur with her as she rolls her hips, clenching and unclenching around his knot until, with a shared rumble – they’re coming together.

They collapse into a heap, sweating and panting; locked together. Tilly feels herself being filled, not just with Arthur’s seed, but with _feeling_ for the alpha. She feels like she’s being filled to bursting. So she reaches for him, gently rakes her fingers through his hair – his eyes closing under her touch – before she pulls his face to her chest and begins purring, the sound of it filling the air.

She knows the others are still watching, it was too quiet in the camp for any other truth. Not even those who had been paired up before have followed the instinct born of the rutting moon.

Arthur moves them so they’re lying on their sides, still wrapped up and intertwined with each other. The night’s young still, so it’s too early for words, but Tilly can still sense the _thank you_ hidden in way Arthur’s hand rubs against her flank, the way his tongue moves gently over a vicious bite wound.

The moon is nearly at its zenith when Tilly feels the heat-fog rolling in again, not as strong but still urgent. From Arthur’s scent and the way his cock twitches inside of her – she knows he’s sensed it. Then, with a rumble, Arthur rolls until he’s on his back, bringing Tilly with him and it’s a move that means submission and control all at once that it makes Tilly’s head spin.

They grin stupidly at each other, bathed in moonlight and firelight and blood, and Tilly throws her head back as Arthur grips her hips, and howls.

She never wanted the night to end.

 

-

 

But all nights end.

 

-

 

Charles tells her where she can find Arthur and it takes – god, it takes _years_ before she can bring herself to make the trip.

She doesn’t bring her daughter or her new alpha, a sweet and gentle thing who worships her, who, no matter how much she urges, can never bring himself to break her skin.

“He’s good to me,” she says, her voice breaking as she digs her fingers into stone, “but I miss you.”

The wind stirs the grass and folds of her yellow dress and, for just the briefest moment, she thinks she catches Arthur’s particular scent of blood and horseflesh – but, with the next gust, it’s gone.

 

-z-

 

End.


End file.
